


A Face of Faith

by ribbons



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Hanukkah, Holiday, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pesach, Romance, Rosh Hashanah, tashlich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-13
Updated: 2009-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbons/pseuds/ribbons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the months that followed Albus's death and Severus's disappearance, Remus Lupin resumed reciting the prayers of his childhood, even though he hadn't stepped inside a synagogue in years..." Written for Ellid for the 2005 Snupin Santa fest (pre-Book 7).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Kaddish

_Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei raba. . ._

 

 

In the months that followed Albus's death and Severus's disappearance, Remus Lupin resumed reciting the prayers of his childhood, even though he hadn't stepped inside a synagogue in years and didn't dare visit one now -- the war was at its height, he doubted whether his enemies respected sanctuaries of any type, and there would have been too many lies to tell once anyone inquired about the scars he bore, the rags he wore, and what he had been doing in the twenty-four years since he became bar mitzvah instead of growing up and settling down with a nice Jewish girl.

 

 

As he reminded himself of his non-options, Remus allowed himself a sardonic smile. Nymphadora Tonks had been a nice enough girl -- Molly Weasley wouldn't have taken to her otherwise -- and he imagined that, this far into his thirties, his mother's ghost would have been beyond caring about the not-Jewish part. But Tonks had not been in love with him, and he had recognized this from the start: over the years, as a teacher and mentor, he had observed too many bright young things in love with _love_ rather than the purported object of their affections, and Tonks had not been an exception. Her infatuation had begun to fade even before the Headmaster's funeral, and Remus had been unsurprised when she blurted out several days later that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Charlie Weasley.

 

 

All the same -- it still stung, Remus reflected, this losing of things one never even intended or wanted to keep -- never mind the losses that actually mattered. As an experienced double agent, it had taken little effort for him to decipher Albus and Severus's desperate endgame, and he had silently braced himself to play along with their plans and to react to the terrible denouement as though he hadn't dreaded it all along.

 

 

When the time came, however, he found the pain to be as raw and unsettling as it had been for the deaths for which there had been scant warning (his parents, the Potters, Sirius...), and he hadn't had to feign the freshness of his grief, even though its shadow had hovered over every debriefing with Albus and every stolen respite with Severus over the past year. It didn't matter that he'd fully anticipated how tragically things would end. It didn't matter that he'd understood the stakes and recognized the necessity of both men's sacrifices. It didn't help that both men had been aware of his unspoken support, and that they had implicitly returned the trust he maintained in their strategies.

 

 

Ultimately, it was impossible to prepare for these kinds of losses: they simply fucking hurt.

 

_Once a great love cut my life in two._

 

The first part goes on twisting

 

at some other place like a snake cut in two.

 

 

Remus sat on a bench in a secluded garden in Edinburgh, a collection of Yehuda Amichai's poems open on his lap. Albus was dead, and Severus was gone, and Remus had taken to reciting Kaddish every day for the both of them, even though this technically went against the rules he had learned as a child. Even if he had wanted to join a congregation, Albus hadn't been his father, and Severus hadn't been his lover -- strictly speaking, it was neither his obligation nor his right to mourn them in this fashion.

 

 

But Remus had long ago learned that, regardless of their authors, laws were not invariably right or kind or even obeyable. Thus, from Judaism, he had long ago determined that he would take what he needed and trust God to be lenient about the rest, and what he needed right now was a routine of words ancient and grand and impersonal enough to absorb the heartache. With the earlier losses, he had found solace in the elegies of Ahnshecht, Treidemar, and other classic lamentations, as well as in the work of venerable Muggle poets such as John Milton and John Donne and Dylan Thomas. However, it was through their mutual love of lyric poetry that Remus and Severus had begun to knot together a fragile connection -- their decades-long recognition of the allusions and cadences in each other's speech and writing finally unfurling into seemingly coincidental encounters in bookshops and discreet, deliberately casual tea-breaks -- moments of grace snatched and shared in-between their assignments and missions, with both of them comprehending a mutual craving for something _other_ than talk:

 

_Music I heard with you was more than music..._

 

_Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?..._

 

_You know that I know, my lord, that you know_

 

That I draw close to take pleasure in you,

 

And you know that I know that you know who I am;

 

So why do you delay our acknowledging each other?...

 

 

It had not become an affair, but Remus had secretly hoped more might someday come out of it, even though it had never become clear whether Severus could ever truly forgive him for his friendship with Sirius -- or, for that matter, his bond with Potter _père_ and his rapport with Potter _fils_. And now he never would, because Severus was as good as dead. Even if Severus survived the War itself -- even if it could ever be conclusively proved that Severus had been serving as one of the Order's dirty angels -- there would forever remain people out to avenge Dumbledore, and Voldemort's surviving supporters would be intent on revenge as well. Severus needed to forge a new life for himself -- one as far away from Hogwarts and the burdens of the past as he could devise -- and Remus doubted there would be any factoring-in of a never-quite-friendship in the refashioning.

 

 

Remus planned to move away to America once he was himself free of the Order. He had his own array of enemies to avoid, and having lived through the aftermath of the First Wizarding War, he thought it all too unlikely that the Ministry would consider him any more employable or respectable than they had in the previous thirty-seven years of his life, regardless of however much he might contribute to Harry's success or Voldemort's defeat. He would miss his friends and protégés, but it wasn't as though he'd been able to stay in touch with any of them during his stints as a spy or his less illustrious stretches of unemployability.

 

 

He also hoped that, once he was settled in the States, he would stumble across fewer reminders of Severus, whose absence coloured his every visit to Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Then again, given half an instant, these days almost _any_ book or morsel of food could remind him of Severus, reviving his memories of the nondescript tearooms and well-warded libraries in which they had met.

 

_And I'm like someone standing in the Judean desert,_

 

looking at a sign:

 

"Sea Level."

 

He cannot see the sea, but he knows.

 

 

For now, on Friday afternoons, when not otherwise incapacitated or on assignment, Remus made a point of bringing home two small pebbles and Transfiguring them into candles, lighting them just before sundown. A stale dinner roll saved from an earlier meal usually sufficed for _hamotzi_, and a goblet of tap water for the blessing of the wine. Remus didn't actually believe that God acknowledged or answered prayers -- God had been deaf to his mother's many heartfelt petitions, after all, and his mother had committed none of the crimes he had had to perpetrate simply to survive. But his parents had continued to recite their prayers, because their parents had done so, and their parents' parents as well, and in the end, who was Remus Lupin to deny himself the same solace? Over the centuries, other Jews had suffered far worse than even he, and whenever he felt inclined to feel sorry for himself, all it took was remembering the old stories -- those of Rabbi Akiva's flesh combed with iron tines, or of Rabbi Chananya ben Teradyon, bound inside a Torah scroll before being burned by the Romans -- such tales easily withering the grip of self-pity. Remus was indeed grateful to be alive, and he was willing enough to utter the prescribed words of praise.

 

_Y'hei sh'lama raba min sh'maya, v'hayim, aleinu v'al kol yisrael, v'imru amein._


	2. Prologue - Kaddish

Standing on the shore of Eynhallow Isle, watching the sea smash against the rocks, Remus knew that he was being absurd -- recklessly sentimental, even. For what he intended to accomplish, any body of water containing fish would have done. Given the twenty-six or so rivers in Scotland proper -- never mind the several hundred lochs -- there had been no good reason for him to Apparate this far north into the Orkneys, other than the fact that he was unlikely to encounter anyone else here, be they tourist or colleague: although his prayers had provided a measure of solace over the summer, Remus felt no desire to explain or discuss them with his friends, even if he could have done so without giving away Dumbledore and Snape's secrets. It wasn't as though he was keeping kosher or observing even half of the other 612 _mitzvot_ incumbent on him as a Jew -- nor had his family ever really done so, even back during his youth. It was something Remus had never quite succeeded in imparting to James or Sirius, how it was possible to _be_ Jewish regardless of how much or how little one subscribed to its traditions -- just as one was _born_ a wizard or a witch, regardless of whether one passed or failed one's OWLs and NEWTs.

 

 

Or, say, just as one might have been fated, perhaps, to stand one evening before a fire in a private library, listening to the lift and fall of a baritone voice reading aloud:

 

_...And while the mortals believed the island_

 

to be freed of all enchantment,

 

having driven away the tribes of merfolk

 

with crucifixes of steel and kaesies of salt,

 

the kirk they made haste to raise was never finished

 

and their descendants driven out by the plague...

 

 

Remus had raised his eyebrows. "A plague? Transmitted by what creature, I wonder?"

 

 

Severus had shrugged. "Five centuries ago, Eynhallow was purged of mice and rats as well as waterfolk. So presumably an insect was the agent. Or a bird. Or some specimen of two-legged vermin."

 

_Like Wormtail_, Remus had left unsaid, watching the flames leap and crackle. After a pause, Severus had continued, his tone turning reminiscent, "I find it a pleasure, gathering plants from an uninhabited island. Unsullied quillwort, and pristine shining pondweed, and tiny Scottish primroses..." Remus had looked at him then -- at the distant expression in his eyes, and the familiar hooked nose, and the lank black hair, darker than the dimness of the room -- and he had felt his heart turn over. He had swiftly returned his gaze back to the fire to hide the surge of yearning that had flooded him -- the urge to caress the other man's cheekbones, to sink to his knees in front of the armchair...

 

 

If Severus had noticed Remus's sudden distress, he had been merciful enough not to comment -- unless his subsequent digression into compounds of seal oil had been meant in some way as an obscure insult. On the other hand, Remus fancied that the former Potions master came by few opportunities to wax lyrical about ingredients these days, and that any halfway-attentive listener would have done for Severus's extended appreciation of alpine saw-worts, filmy ferns, and muckled crowberries.

 

 

There were the wildest of wildflowers still flourishing on this shore: the scents of disconcerting orchids, strange heathers, and peculiar thymes mingled with the salt sting of the air. Closing his eyes, the shrill cries of guillemots and oystercatchers echoing in his ears, Remus mentally scolded himself for sheer stupidity: there had been not a shred of reason to hope he might glimpse Severus here. So to be so disappointed... it beggared belief, what an idiot he could be. No doubt Severus would have said the same could he see Remus now.

 

 

Shaking his head vigorously, Remus pulled out one of Hagrid's rock cakes from the folds of his cloak and began to sand crumbs from it into the water with his fingertips.

 

 

A caustic voice cut into his meditation. "Lupin, are you deranged? You are far too scrawny to be emptying out your pockets for the eels."

 

 

Remus stilled. _Hallucination, my lad_ he thought. _You've been wanting this so badly that you_ have_ finally lost your mind._

 

 

Not turning around, he said, "It's the first day of Rosh Hashanah. On this day, we cast our sins into flowing water, that they may be carried away as we start the new year."

 

 

Severus snorted. "A pretty custom, Lupin." He stepped up next to Remus, peering at the waves crashing at their feet. "If only all sins could be so easily ground up and rinsed from existence." His voice hardened. "And why, pray tell, did you choose _here_, of all places? Did you hope to hand me a cake?"

 

 

Remus stared resolutely out at the sea, colour flaming in his cheeks. _I am _such_ an idiot,_ he thought. _And to find him actually _here _\-- _

 

 

"Whatever is the matter, Lupin?" The mockery in Severus's voice became more pronounced as Remus failed to answer. "Did the Order send you to spy on me, but fail to provide you with a credible cover story?"

 

 

"If the Order had sent me," Remus snapped, "they would be expecting me to kill you on sight."

 

 

"Then spit it out, Lupin: _Why_? Why _here_, and why haven't you?"

 

 

"During this season," Remus said slowly, "it is also traditional to ask for forgiveness from those against whom they have sinned. Even when one holds little hope of the request being heard or granted."

 

 

Severus answered, his voice incredulous, "And is it a commandment to forgive?"

 

 

Remus's lips twisted. "Some authorities say the transgressor must petition the person they wronged three times with three different sets of witnesses before abandoning the effort. Some say, that if the victim was one's teacher, one must beseech for forgiveness a thousand times, no matter how difficult or impossible it may seem to obtain absolution." (Was that an almost imperceptible flinch next to him?) "Some advise that forgiveness may be withheld for the good of the supplicant, so that when it is received, it is properly regarded as a precious gift rather than taken too lightly or seen as one's due."

 

 

As he spoke, Remus continued dropping morsels of the rock cake into the water. When Severus made no reply, he let the shrieks of the seabirds occupy the silence for a moment. Then he quietly chanted, "_Avinu malkeinu, choneinu va-aneinu, ki ein banu ma-asim, asei imanu tzedakah va-chesed v'hoshieinu._ Our Father, Our King, answer us with grace, although we lack merit; deal with us with charity and save us with love."

 

 

"And to which set of teachings do _you_ answer, Lupin?" Severus asked. His tone remained sceptical but his voice had become husky.

 

 

Remus turned to face him. "That one must ask forgiveness for sins of omission as well as commission. And thus..." he swallowed, and then spoke even more deliberately, "I ask your pardon. For what I have done, and for what I have allowed to be done to you. For my failure to stop my friends from tormenting you. For all of the other harms and insults inflicted upon you these many years for which I share the blame."

 

 

Severus hadn't moved, but his entire body suddenly seemed taut as an overstrung bow. He demanded, his voice once again harsh, "If my forgiveness truly matters to you, Lupin, then why is it you cannot bring yourself to use my name? You have failed to utter it even once today. Have you become so fastidious, that you cannot address a murderer directly?"

 

 

Remus said, carefully, "After the War... I would not wish to cause your death. Not through foolish errors such as slipping-up with the use of a name from the past. And so, I thought it best to begin the practice now."

 

 

Severus stared at him, utterly astonished. "After --? Lupin. There is no 'after' waiting for me."

 

 

"Not as 'Severus Snape,' no."

 

 

Severus searched Remus's eyes, his mind reaching for confirmation of Remus's words. As the truth of Remus's longings swirled between them, Severus's face contorted with anguish and he whirled away from Remus.

 

 

Remus's thoughts raced, the sight of Severus's shaking shoulders tearing at his heart. _Should I touch him? Hold him? Will he even accept comfort from me?_ His mind rebuked his fear: _You failed him all those years ago by doing nothing -- are you a Gryffindor or not!?_

 

 

He stepped forward and tentatively placed his hand on the other man's collar. Severus shuddered at the contact but neither shoved him away nor hexed him. After a long moment, Severus bowed his head; hardly daring to breathe, Remus drew his hand across the fabric in a gliding half-caress, his arm stretching across Severus's back.

 

 

"I forgive you," Severus said, the words sounding as though they cost him an irreplaceable fortune to utter. He twisted his head around so that his eyes once again met Remus's, his face haunted and bleak. "And you... for all that I have done, for all that I must yet do... is forgiveness even possible for such as me?"

 

 

Remus pressed his forehead against Severus's, their brows touching as he whispered, "Yes. Yes, it is."


	3. Hanukkah

By the first night of Hanukkah, Remus had had enough. Someone had been trailing him the past three days -- someone skilled enough at following people to remain invisible, but not quite experienced enough to remain undetectable. At least, Remus amended, not undetectable to someone accustomed to being under suspicion: over the years, his survival had depended on his being relentlessly alert to silent ripples and almost imperceptible gaps in the sounds and scents comprising his surroundings.

 

 

It was someone who likely hadn't had to mask their efforts at surveillance in the past, Remus suspected. _Typical Death Eaters,_ he mused. _Zero subtlety in their strategies. You would have thought Severus would have seen through the lack of elegance..._

 

 

He let the thought evaporate as he finished rinsing and drying the wine bottle he had fished out from a gutter earlier that morning. He could have cleaned it with a spell, of course, but there was something more _right_ about doing certain things by hand -- something he had conversed about several times with his landlady, an energetic Unitarian church administrator with a mad passion for needlework. As he Transfigured the bottle into a menorah, twining delicate leaves around its nine branches, his mind drifted back to the vines and fronds he'd glimpsed on Eynhallow back in October.

 

 

He hadn't seen Severus since their meeting on the shore; even if he could have spared the time, he'd known better than to return in hopes of a rendezvous. It had been a difficult autumn: Lucius Malfoy had escaped from Azkaban, and Draco was back under his father's wing. There had been several more funerals to attend, and Bill Weasley had attempted suicide, unable to adapt to his new condition in spite of his wife's unflagging support; he'd been discovered in time, but he was still in St. Mungo's, and _all_ of the Weasleys -- from Arthur and Molly down to young Ginny -- now looked far older than their years, their faces etched with grief and anger at the evidence of Bill's despair. Even the twins had been demonstrably affected -- the shop in Diagon Alley stayed open, and they continued to produce frivolous distractions and puerile props by the dozens, but there was a harder edge to their foolery now, and it showed in the slew of weapons and tools they developed for the Order.

 

 

Disheartening as the deaths and injuries had been, there were also significant advances and accomplishments to celebrate. With considerable assistance from Remus, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had managed to secure and destroy both Hufflepuff's cup and Ravenclaw's poniard. The location of Slytherin's locket still eluded them, as did the identity of the sixth Horcrux, but Remus felt they were closing in on the answers. Bellatrix Lestrange had been captured and executed by a Karkaroff cousin who remained at large, and no one seemed overly concerned about pursuing _that_ particular fugitive. Hogwarts had remained open, and Minerva had somehow cajoled old Ollivander not only into returning to the wizarding world, but into filling in as the current Defence Against Dark Arts instructor. No one else seemed to know where the master wandmaker had spent his sabbatical, and the headmistress wasn't telling, but from all reports, the arrangement was proving most satisfactory.

 

 

Remus finished adjusting the final leaf on the menorah and Conjured two long tapers out of the air (the compulsion to Transfigure rocks into Shabbat candles had drifted away with the crumbs of Tashlich). He placed the hanukkiah in the centre of his front window, lit the servant candle, and chanted the three blessings, ending with the _Shehechianu_:

 

_Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, shehechianu v'kiyemanu v'higianu lazman hazeh. Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season._

 

 

Concluding with "_Amein_," Remus took a deep breath, dropped the wards obscuring the front of the building, and lit the first night's candle in full view of the street, gripping his wand in his other hand. He had taken a mere two steps back from the flame when the door burst open.

 

 

"_Impedi_\-- what the _hell_!?" The instant he recognized his visitor, who had dived onto the floor, Remus swallowed the final syllables of the jinx and automatically slammed the door. Slashing his wand across the window and the door, he reactivated all of the wards at once, adding in several bonus hexes for good measure.

 

 

The man on the floor snarled, "Lupin, do you have a death wish!? What was that little display supposed to prove, generations of Gryffindor devotion to insanity?"

 

 

"________!" In lieu of yelling Severus's name, Remus slammed his fist against the nearest wall, seething with both relief and exasperation. "What the _fuck_ are you playing at? Don't you have --"

 

 

A body hurled itself against the front window but failed to break it. At the sound, Severus whipped himself back onto his feet and into a defensive stance. "Good to see your training's held," he observed, his face alight with an unholy glee. Remus wasn't certain if Severus was complimenting his command of names or wards, but he was pretty sure this was the wrong time to demand clarification, especially after the window rattled and shook a second time.

 

 

"Lupin. I am impressed. How many layers do you have remaining between us and our doom?"

 

 

"Only one, I'm sorry to say. It's a Muggle area, you know -- too much magical security triggers the wrong -- oh, _bless_!"

 

 

"For Salazar's sake, Lupin, _that_ should not have been a surprise," Severus said, watching as Remus sent the Death Eater sprawling across the floor.

 

 

"It wasn't," answered Remus. "But anticipating this doesn't make me any less annoyed about it. _Reducto,_" he bellowed, blasting a second Death Eater directly into the one on his heels, sending both of them crashing back into the street outside. "Good thing this is a dodgy neighbourhood," he continued. "Those who we don't manage to Obliviate --"

 

 

"True," said Severus, taking the hint with more grace than Remus had dared to expect and gliding outside. Remus cast an Incarcerous on the first attacker; he was joined by the bound and unconscious bodies of his fellow goons a few minutes later, Snape following them in through the doorway.

 

 

"You're in luck," he said to Remus. "Too cold for casual loiterers tonight."

 

 

"Even for 'our lady of the corner'?" Remus inquired.

 

 

"Nowhere in sight. She probably found a car. Or a bedsit," Severus answered wryly. "Besides, that's one you can safely leave to her hallucinations, even if inquiries are made. These, however --"

 

 

"Should we revive them so you can sift through their minds before I Obliviate them?"

 

 

"What, Lupin, you would deprive the Ministry's minions of their proper chores?"

 

 

"You're here," Remus said, his voice short. "Therefore, yes."

 

 

Severus suddenly sagged, half-stumbling into the nearest chair. "No. I already know more than they ever did. Get on with it."

 

 

Remus glanced at Severus in concern but obeyed the command, following the first memory charm with one specifically devised to inflict vivid nightmares. He was interrupted by a dour chuckle.

 

 

"You're inflicting Celestina Warbeck's dross upon them for all eternity? Lupin, I didn't know you had it in you."

 

 

Remus acknowledged Severus's appreciation with a tight smile. "You weren't the one woken up by a Howler from Molly Weasley this morning for declining her invitation to Christmas."

 

 

Severus's eyes indicated the green glass hanukkiah, still standing intact on the windowsill. "Because of...?"

 

 

Remus shrugged. "Not in itself. Though perhaps more so this year than the ones before. No, it was mostly because Molly is clever about many things but stupid about people. You do not invite the ex-boyfriends of almost-daughter-in-laws to family gatherings."

 

 

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Even when the 'ex-boyfriend' has been a family friend for -- what, Lupin, several decades?"

 

 

Remus shrugged again. "It just isn't done," he insisted. "And, in any case, there'd be Arthur pleading with me for suggestions on bringing Bill back to the land of the living, and Fleur not getting on with the girls, and Harry pretending he doesn't care about Ginny's latest fling, _and_ I'd have to pretend I don't care about what's said about you. When I do. And I hardly need the additional practice," he emphasised, forestalling Severus's interjection. "Care to help me with these?"

 

 

"To where were you thinking of delivering them?"

 

 

Remus's teeth gleamed. "Kingsley Shacklebolt's still working for the Muggle minister. He's rigged up a one-way chimney on top of his London townhouse for, er, dubious deposits, no questions asked."

 

 

Severus's eyebrows crept even higher. "And the Ministry doesn't keep an eye on Shacklebolt's...extracurricular _earnings_?"

 

 

Remus's smile was cynical as he steered the prisoners' bodies into a single bundle. "The Ministry will do nothing that might jeopardize the inflation of its accomplishments. Therefore, it sees nothing." He looked at Severus and frowned. "You're --" _not looking well_, he wanted to say, but knew Severus might hear that as a challenge. "Why don't I get going with this while you patch my window back together? The wards, too," he added, Disapparating with his captives before Severus could reply.

 

* * *

 

 

Remus knew that something was wrong before he opened the door: the wards were adequate, but "merely adequate" was hardly Severus's style. The faint sense of unease that had accompanied him to London and back bloomed into outright alarm when, rather than rising to greet him, Severus remained huddled in the same chair he'd half-fallen into earlier.

 

 

"_Develate._" Severus flinched as the Uncloaking spell flooded the room with bright light, each object casting its original shadow. It revealed not only the hanukkiah's previous state as a wine bottle, but also the bookshelf's former function as a shipping crate and the broken broom Remus had Transfigured into a serviceable coat rack. It also confirmed that there were no intruders blending against the walls or hiding under charmed clothing.

 

 

Severus mustered up a sneer. "Still don't trust me, Lupin? Not that I --" he broke off, overtaken by a fit of coughing.

 

 

Remus stared at him, then strode into the kitchen. He came back with two mugs of hot tea and thrust one of them at Severus.

 

 

"Here. I wish I could offer you a proper potion, but --"

 

 

Severus shook his head. "I might trouble you for some salt, in a bit. And for the use of your sink."

 

 

Remus frowned. Salt-water gargles were a classic folk remedy, but -- "Just how long have you had that?"

 

 

Severus shrugged, his face as haggard as Remus had ever seen it. "A week? Two? It is of no con--" As another paroxysm seized him, he clapped a hand over his mouth and hastily set the mug onto the floor, its contents almost sloshing over the brim. When he could speak again, he burst out with an exhausted, heartfelt "_Fuck!_"

 

 

Remus said nothing, but continued to study Severus through narrowed eyes. Then he stood up and stalked back to the kitchen. He returned with a glass of warm salted water and held it out to his visitor.

 

 

"Sink's that way," he said, gesturing toward the loo. "I don't bother with nightshirts myself, but I could loan you a summer-weight dressing gown --"

 

 

"Lupin, stop fussing. I just need a couple of hours --"

 

 

"Stop. You were mad enough to come here --"

 

 

"_Someone_ needed to watch your back."

 

 

Remus halted, speechless. When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft and dangerous. "And who's watching yours, _love_?"

 

 

Severus stiffened. "You know full well I can take care of myself."

 

 

"I know what I see, and you're doing a bloody poor job of it."

 

 

"You need your eyes checked, Lupin."

 

 

While they traded barbs, Remus had set the glass down next to the mug and unfolded a futon. He Summoned a pair of clean sheets from a closet and spread them over the mattress. He then resumed glaring at Severus. "Believe what you like. Swear at me all you want. But you are not going anywhere else tonight except for this bed."

 

 

Severus managed a smirk, of all things. "What a line that would be -- if you didn't look quite so ready to strangle me."

 

 

Remus rolled his eyes. "I've had a long night, love, and _you_ clearly aren't well enough for any kind of come-on as it is."

 

 

Severus paused. "Lupin, there's no need to overdo it."

 

 

"The calling you 'love'? I take it it annoys you?"

 

 

"Yes," said Severus, his tone slightly clipped.

 

 

Remus manufactured an unrepentant smile. "Then, it's absolutely perfect." _In addition to being true._ "Now rinse your throat and come to bed, and I _will_ hex you if you try to leave without saying goodbye."

 

 

Severus growled at the threat, but the adrenaline that had apparently fueled him earlier had run its course. After yet another spasm of coughing, he snatched up the glass of salted water and hurried to the bathroom.

 

 

As he continued to dress the bed, keeping an ear tuned in on the running and splashing of water, Remus blessed the stubborn generosity of his landlady, not for the first time: when he moved in, she had noted the worn condition of his sparse belongings, marched out of the flat, and returned with an armload of quilts and blankets. A loan, she'd insisted: "These aren't going to sell -- look at this pink and avocado combo, I don't know _what_ I was thinking back then. Judging from the jumper you're wearing, you don't have an eye for colour anyhow."

 

 

Judging from Severus's curdled expression, the duvet now on top of the futon also belonged in the "what had she been thinking?" category. "Lupin. I realize you are striving to be hospitable, but Slytherin and Gryffindor colours _do not belong together_."

 

 

Startled, Remus registered the quilt's garish red and green blocks, and then began to laugh. "Oh, honestly. Not everything is about Hogwarts, love. I think this was Dill's attempt at a fancy Christmas pattern. The gold and silver embroidery _is_ too much, though..."

 

 

"Dill --?"

 

 

"She owns the block -- inherited it from an uncle, I believe. In general, her work's fantastic, but I can't afford the ones that actually look good."

 

 

Still glowering, Severus shed his robes. Dressed in only a pair of plain drawers, he slid onto the left half of the futon, settling himself under the covers with an involuntary sigh. When Remus did not immediately join him, he frowned and followed the other man's gaze.

 

 

"Lupin. Do not tell me you are planning to spend the night in that chair."

 

 

"Not quite planning. Merely contemplating."

 

 

"Do not be ridiculous, Lupin. You practically _forced_ me into remaining here. _Now_ you balk at sharing the same bed?"

 

 

Remus flushed. "Not for lack of -- it's not because I don't wish to, love."

 

 

The colour in Severus's own cheeks was high. "I'd prefer you didn't call me that."

 

 

"'Love'?"

 

 

"Yes."

 

 

"Why?"

 

 

Severus couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Because I have had my fill of people not meaning the words they say."

 

 

Remus slowly knelt onto the futon. He waited until Severus's eyes met his. Keeping his voice even, he said, "I can understand that. But after... everything... we have said" _and entrusted_ "to each other, do you still think so little of me?"

 

 

Severus turned his face away. After a long silence, he whispered, "I think too much of you as it is."

 

 

Remus caught his breath. In all of the years they'd known each other, Severus had never seemed this fragile -- not as a student, not after his sessions with the Dark Lord -- not even on the shore of Eynhallow. Remus stretched out a hand as if to touch him, but hesitated: the other man was so still it seemed as if the merest contact would shatter him.

 

 

Then another fit of coughing wracked Severus's body, and Remus's caution evaporated: as Severus shook and swore through his lungs' attempt to clear themselves, Remus scooted close and began to rub his back. He continued to soothe and caress as Severus stopped convulsing, his palms travelling across the bare skin in firm but undemanding strokes.

 

 

Severus muttered, his voice rough, "You'll never get any sleep like this. Perhaps you could set me up in the bathtub?"

 

 

Remus paused. "Sit up," he said. He reached for a loose blanket and draped it over the other man's torso as he did so. He Summoned the mug of tea to him and murmured a charm to reheat it. "Keeping you hydrated will help," he said.

 

 

"Lupin --" Severus protested.

 

 

"Drink," Remus insisted.

 

 

Defeated, Severus took the mug. Remus shifted his own position so that the other man could lean against his body.

 

 

Acquiescing, Severus half-relaxed, his back against Remus's chest as he sipped the tea. They sat together, lingering in a pleasant, half-drowsy silence, until Severus suddenly sat up with a jerk.

 

 

Instead of allowing Severus to shrink away, Remus pulled him close. "What?"

 

 

Severus hunched over, miserable and tense. "I shouldn't be here. Not here, not with you, not in this bed. I am a fool, and so are you."

 

 

Following Severus's downcast gaze, Remus glimpsed his companion's naked forearm, pale against the sleeve of his own jersey, and he realized what had triggered this latest outburst. _That_ fucking _Mark_... He wrapped his arms even more firmly around Severus and answered, "No."

 

 

"_Lupin --_"

 

 

"Stop wasting your breath, _love_." Severus went utterly still at the words. His face dead white, he twisted around, his eyes locking with Remus's.

 

 

"You utter idiot," Remus said, but without heat. "You _saw_ \-- all year, you've heard me, and at Rosh Hashanah, you _saw_ \-- you're searching my mind even now, and still you won't believe?"

 

 

"Not _won't_," Severus husked out. "_Can't_. Haven't..." But even as he spoke, Remus purposely drew him _in_, deep and welcoming, deliberately enveloping them both with the sensations of almost-touches and the memories of a thousand stolen glances --

 

 

Trembling, Severus tried to break the contact, but Remus refused to release his gaze. "Lupin --" Severus whispered, his voice cracking.

 

 

"_Love,_" Remus said, hoarsely but firmly, his fingers skimming Severus's cheek. Severus closed his eyes and savoured the caress even as he fought to hold back tears. "Love," Remus repeated, sliding his hands down Severus's arms. "I'm not asking you for declarations. I'm not asking you for decisions. Nothing beyond staying here tonight, and letting yourself rest."

 

 

"Rest..." Severus echoed, trickles of moisture already leaking from his eyes as he tried to turn away. When Remus lifted the mug from his hands, Severus buried his face in Remus's shoulder, tears surging out in an uncontrollable flood. As he wept and shuddered, Remus eased their bodies back down to the mattress, lightly stroking Severus's hair and skin and silently inhaling the scents of tears, grime, soap, sweat, despair, and desire.

 

 

Remus sighed, and pressed a kiss to Severus's forehead. _Just for tonight... rest... please let yourself rest..._ The other man lay in his arms, too depleted to respond with more than a faint furrowing of his brow. Brushing his lips against the line, Remus murmured _Nox_ and resettled the covers over their bodies.

 

* * *

 

 

The second and third nights of Hanukkah fell on Christmas Eve and Christmas itself, and Remus's plans had originally consisted of picking up some jam doughnuts, rereading 1 and 2 Maccabees, working through the new set of books Hermione had shipped to him, and reheating some of the soups and casseroles in his freezer. He had expected it to be quiet and solitary and potentially productive; he had a hunch about the edition of Siobhan Burke's letters, that there might be a needle of a hint somewhere within its haystacks of annotations...

 

 

He had known there might be trouble. It was why he'd avoided committing to outside work on those days, even though he knew of at least two caretakers, a bartender, and a nursing home receptionist who would have gladly offered him their shifts. (What with the war, it was true that he was always in danger of being called away for the Order, but at any other time of the year, he could have counted on finding someone in his network of underemployed artists and philosophers to cover for _him_.) _If we all live long enough_, he thought, _it can be my excuse for staying away from the Burrow next year._

 

 

Watching four candles burn in his window -- _shammas_, first night, second night, third night -- he mentally reviewed the new set of wards he'd devised the previous morning, reassuring himself that he'd configured the right combination of Confunding and Concealment charms needed to protect his privacy. He understood that Molly meant well, but sending any sort of owl to a Muggle residence, let alone a Howler -- _Weasleys never could keep their heads when they got emotional_, he reflected, and that was a problem with holidays, wasn't it -- how they ratcheted up people's emotions, intensifying both memories and expectations...

 

 

Well. Whatever anyone expected from him, he couldn't afford to indulge them -- not with a war to win, and not with an ailing fugitive sleeping on his futon. Declining an invitation to Christmas dinner was not an emergency that justified a tracking spell, and Molly was fortunate he'd been too sleepy to strangle her owl on sight. He fervently hoped that Hermione would be able to discourage any other well-intentioned packages, messages, or visits, or at least to misdirect them all to Mycroft, a reclusive Squib whose office was once again serving as Remus's postal address.

 

 

Remus grimaced as he thought back to his words to Tonks and the Weasleys back in June -- in retrospect, he shouldn't have tried to be nice about it. His saying that Tonks deserved "somebody young and whole" (_and naive and idealistic and completely lacking in subtlety_) had given them license not to take his other objections seriously, even though he'd been in utter earnest about the "too dangerous." Did they imagine he concealed his living quarters from the rest of the Order for the _fun_ of it? Or, Heaven help them all, out of trivial _embarrassment_? If he was going to share his life with anyone, it needed to be someone capable of interpreting long silences as well as veiled speech without hand-holding, and he'd long ago concluded that he would find that only with someone who had paid similar dues -- someone for whom masks and subterfuges had also become second nature. He'd assumed it meant he would end up with no one --

 

_He who has no home, will not build one now,_

 

He who is alone will remain long alone...

 

 

His guest's condition had deteriorated considerably during the past forty-eight hours, so much that Remus would have hauled anyone else to a hospital post-haste. Instead, he'd brewed countless cups of tea and broth, forcing them upon Severus when he was awake, and periodically set up pans of billowing steam around the bed in hopes of helping Severus breathe more easily. He'd conjured bedpans as well as extra sheets and towels when it became evident that Severus could no longer navigate between the futon and the toilet on his own. He'd sponge-bathed Severus, changed the linens, and simply _held_ the man; what frightened him the most, in fact, was how little resistance Severus had put up against his ministrations. It was as though all of the fight in him had been used up in the days leading up to the Death Eater charge into Remus's flat; it reminded Remus of how students commonly succumbed to colds and other ailments after a gruelling stretch of exams, and he hadn't been blind to how little Severus had participated in the actual defence against his attackers.

 

 

Between them, he and Severus were well-versed in an obscene number of healing spells and unconventional remedies -- given how often they hadn't had access to mediwizarding facilities, they'd _had_ to be -- but their collective expertise was decidedly weighted towards staunching blood and mending sprains and other on-the-field traumas, not coping with virulent respiratory infections. Severus was skilled at concocting potions, of course, but it wasn't as though either of them had access to the proper ingredients, and in his current state, Remus wasn't confident about Severus's capacity to brew tea from a bag, never mind improvising a cure for what resembled advanced pneumonia.

 

 

Having confirmed that Severus was asleep -- fitful and feverish, but asleep -- Remus dropped his head into his hands. They clearly couldn't continue this way, and yet, there was no one he trusted to treat Severus instead of killing him, and Muggle medicine wasn't compatible with the metabolisms of adult wizards. Even if the nearest wizarding library had been open, he knew better than to attempt researching the topic at one, what with the Ministry inspecting circulation records as part of its hunt for traitors. _And I suppose I am,_ Remus thought. _Aiding and abetting "the enemy." One man's traitor, another man's rebel..._

 

 

He lifted his head and gazed once more at the now-empty menorah. _Each night a miracle..._ When he turned back to the futon, Severus was watching him.

 

 

Remus knelt by the mattress, trying to read Severus's expression. "Water?" he asked.

 

 

Severus shook his head, weakly. "Touch," he croaked.

 

 

Remus frowned, puzzled. "Touch --?" he repeated, his hand instinctively reaching up to caress a cheek.

 

 

Severus sighed, turning his face into the hand. "Skin. Hurts all over. Too warm _and_ too cold," he rasped. "Not so much when you touch me," he admitted. "But, you shouldn't --"

 

 

"Hush," said Remus, his voice husky. He kicked off his shoes and slid under the covers, carefully arranging his body so that it lightly cradled Severus's. "Better?"

 

 

"Much," said Severus, his eyes closed. "So sorry -- can't think --"

 

 

Remus pressed his lips against Severus's ear. "Sleep," he said. "We'll argue later."

 

* * *

 

 

On the fourth night of Hanukkah, Remus opened his prayerbook to the Amidah, seeking:

 

_You sustain the living with lovingkindness,  
And with great mercy You bestow eternal life upon the dead.  
You support the falling, heal the sick, and free the captives.  
You keep faith with those who sleep in the dust...._

 

_Perhaps You were how he managed to stay alive until now? Perhaps that's Your part of this miracle, and the rest..._ Remus stared hard at the flames in front of him, coming to a decision as they dwindled into nothingness.

 

 

As he reconfigured the wards, Severus's laboured, shallow breathing and the periodic hiss of the radiator were the only sounds in the room. He cast a glamour over Severus's Dark Mark, Vanished the conjured bedpan and linens, and Transfigured replacements for them out of a dish and some papers.

 

 

"A visitor, Lupin?" Severus had become increasingly disoriented over the course of the day, but he was still preternaturally sharp when lucid.

 

 

"I hope so. I trust her." _At this point, we have to._

 

 

"Not a Healer." Not a question.

 

 

"No, just someone who can make you more tea." _And to keep you alive, if she can, should I be detained or something else go wrong._ "Back in a minute." He kissed Severus's brow, Transfigured his cloak into a jacket, and walked down the street to his landlady's door.

 

_Please let her be home. Please let her say yes. Please let her not ask..._

 

 

"Reade!" she said, using the name he'd given her. "Happy -- what's wrong, dear heart? Come in, come in --"

 

 

Remus shut the door behind him -- he had seen no one else outside, but he wasn't taking unnecessary chances. "I've a friend, in the flat. He's taken ill, badly, and I need someone to watch him while I go fetch his medicine."

 

 

Dill was already reaching for her coat. "Not a problem, Reade --"

 

 

"-- except you also need to know he's on the run. I wish I could tell you why, but I can't, and if you take him to a doctor or a hospital, he'll be worse off than dead."

 

 

Dill threw him a sharp glance. Then she nodded, unfazed. "Like that, is it? Don't worry, sweetheart. He'll be safe with me." She slung a workbag over her shoulder and switched off her lights.

 

 

They said nothing as they walked to the flat, but as he turned the key in the lock, Remus quietly said, "It's an enormous favour, this. I won't know how to repay you."

 

 

Dill snorted. "I'll think of something. Make you help install a tapestry, perhaps." She caught sight of the gaudy Christmas quilt. "Or I'll make you keep that ghastly lot. Yes, I think that would do quite nicely."

 

 

"Believe it or not, I _am_ that grateful," Remus joked, faintly astonished at his ability to do so.

 

 

Dill raked Severus's sleeping form with an appraising stare; she then settled herself into a chair and took out her stitching. "Go, Reade -- go do what you need to do," she said. "He isn't the first fugitive I've harboured, and he won't be the last. I'm all for the rule of law when the rulers are just, but..." she shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. Her expression reminded Remus of a photo he'd glimpsed on her mantel -- that of a girl with a "Maggie Thatcher, milk snatcher" protest sign, marching with her mum.

 

 

In spite of his worry, Remus smiled at her. Then he left the building, slipped between two windowless walls, and Apparated to the Shrieking Shack.

 

* * *

 

 

In the Shack, he Transfigured the jacket back into a proper cloak and cast a glamour over his face and hands. As he half-ran, half-crept through a secret tunnel to the Hospital Wing -- one that had been known only to him, Albus, and Poppy -- he found himself praying, _Please let her be in. Please let her be alone. Please give me the right words..._

 

 

When she opened the door to her office, he glimpsed a familiar emerald green sleeve draped over the arm of a chair, and inwardly cursed. Seeing him, Poppy exclaimed, "Re-- _Rhys_," she amended hastily, as the light revealed his altered face. "How good to see you."

 

 

Behind her, Minerva McGonagall rose. Remus remained in the shadows of the hall. He was glad he'd made a point of wearing rags around members of the Order -- although Poppy had instantly identified him by his cloak and boots, ones he had worn on earlier clandestine visits, the Headmistress had no reason to recognize this particular non-shabby set of clothes.

 

 

McGonagall enquired, "Your visitor, Poppy?"

 

 

"An associate, Minerva." Poppy had shifted into her brisk, professional voice. Apparently this was not an unique interruption to their evenings, as McGonagall merely nodded, matter-of-factly stepping towards the fireplace and saying, "Later, then," as she Flooed out.

 

_Praise Heaven for sensible women_, Remus thought, obeying Poppy's indication to take a seat.

 

 

As she handed him a glass of wine, she frowned. "That moustache still doesn't suit you."

 

 

"Goes with the colour of the cloak," he said.

 

 

She reluctantly smirked. "As if you'd be able to tell."

 

 

Remus feigned an insulted look. "Are you telling me black doesn't go with black?"

 

 

Poppy rolled her eyes. "If only Snape could hear you now. Being able to discern black with blue undertones from black with red undertones is _so_ vital to top-tier potion-brewing --"

 

 

Remus hoped his expression revealed nothing as he interrupted her. "Speaking of potions --"

 

 

Poppy straightened. "Yes, speaking of --"

 

 

Remus rapidly described Severus's symptoms to her, his heart sinking as her expression grew more and more grim. When he finished, she regarded him carefully for a long moment, then gestured for him to follow. They silently walked to her storeroom; warding the door behind her, Poppy selected four bottles and two packets and placed them on a table. Then, unlocking a particularly forbidding-looking cabinet, she pushed aside a row of pale blue bottles, thrust her wand inside, and tapped it against the rear panel as she murmured an Unsealing spell.

 

 

She nodded toward the inside of the cabinet. "Take it, please." Remus reached in and withdrew a tall, black flask. Poppy resealed the panel, relocked the cabinet, and reviewed the array of medicines she'd set on the table.

 

 

"I'd come with you," she finally said, "but they can't spare me here."

 

_I counted on that,_ Remus mentally answered.

 

 

Poppy lightly ran her finger around the stopper of the tall flask, as if to confirm that it remained securely sealed. "I've been hoarding this ever since Snape disappeared," she said. "The lass who replaced Slughorn, she's doing her best, but she's nowhere near Snape's match."

 

 

"I imagine he'd be gratified to hear that," Remus ventured.

 

 

Poppy sniffed derisively. "Little good it'd do him now. Too idealistic, that one --"

 

 

Remus choked. "_Snape?_ Idealistic?"

 

 

Poppy cocked an eyebrow. "Absolutely. Never got over life not being fair, that one. The current Potions mistress, she's the same way," she added. "Can't see for the life of her why I fuss over the Slytherins. Swears they're all baby Death Eaters. If she had her way, every student would have to swear a loyalty oath before I cast a healing spell."

 

 

Remus grimaced. "That makes _you_ the more idealistic one, does it not? You and your quaint notions of treating everybody equally --"

 

 

Poppy snorted. "Never mind that most who need my kind of help will swear _anything_ they're told to swear. I've met few people who could keep their heads while in pain, and almost all of them are now dead or insane anyway."

 

 

Remus had no answer to that. Not expecting one, Poppy shook her head and continued, "This is what you'll need to do...", whisking out a sheet of parchment and scribbling down a litany of dosages and spells. Remus peered over her shoulder as she wrote, committing the precious instructions to memory.

 

 

"There," Poppy said. She murmured a quick blotting charm and let the sheet sit for a moment before rolling it up and bundling it with the other supplies into a single, expertly-padded packet.

 

 

Remus bent down so that his eyes met hers. "There's no way I can thank you for this."

 

 

Poppy said, her voice gruff, "Stay alive. Help... who you need to help. And, next time you visit, _shave_." She unspelled the wards.

 

 

Not trusting his voice, Remus simply kissed her on the cheek. Then, cradling the bundle close to his chest, he left the storeroom, swiftly strolling back down the corridor to the secret tunnel.

 

* * * 

 

 

As he let himself back into his flat, Remus heard Dill's soft alto crooning, "_Maoz tzur yeshuati, iecha naeh le-shabeiach..._" Mesmerised by the familiar melody, he silently stood inside the doorway until she finished the song.

 

 

Dill caught the inquiring expression on his face. "Interfaith concerts," she explained. "And _Mi y'malel_'s far too bouncy."

 

 

Remus said, "I never could carry a tune."

 

 

Dill grinned. "No musical skill, no eye for colour -- just what kind of gay man _are_ you, Reade Lunen?"

 

 

Remus was flabbergasted. Dill gathered up her threads and fabric and stood up, gesturing at Remus to take the chair. Remus continued staring at her.

 

 

Dill sighed. "Reade, I was teasing. I'm Welsh, you buffoon, we expect _all_ of our men to be singers -- even the straight ones." Remus still looked poleaxed; she shook him lightly by the shoulder. "Reade. _Cariad_. You weren't obvious. I see things."

 

 

"You're trained in Divination?" Remus whispered.

 

 

"What? Good Lord, no," Dill replied. "I'll leave that to the pagans. No, my gift is just to see things. Just as they are. Not as they should be or will be or what I want them to be."

 

 

"And what do you see," Remus's voice was barely audible, "when you look at him?"

 

 

Dill paused. "Someone determined to face the Hound of Heaven rather than flee him."

 

 

Remus muttered, "God knows he stands his ground with the Hounds of Hell."

 

 

Dill's eyes flashed with sympathetic anger. "He's terribly sick -- you know that. But also unusually strong." She hesitated. "And he loves you more than he can bring himself to say."

 

 

Remus's expression was grim. "Raved about not deserving sanctuary, did he?" Severus's earlier bout of delirium had been harrowing.

 

 

"Yes," Dill confirmed. She again placed her hand on Remus's shoulder, this time imparting reassurance. "Do what you need to do for him, Reade. I'll be back in the morning. With soup and fresh blankets," she added, in a tone that brooked no refusal. She gave him a parting squeeze and headed to the door.

 

 

"Dill?" Remus said, the question reluctant on his tongue. "What do -- what might one see in me?"

 

 

Her gaze was serious, yet affectionate. "I see a face of faith, my dear," she said. "_Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted._"

 

 

She shut and locked the door behind her. Remus sat very still for a moment. Then he turned back to Severus and opened the tall, black flask.

 

* * *

 

 

By the fifth night of Hanukkah, Severus's lungs were significantly less clogged-up, and he had regained full possession of his wits, demanding to see Poppy's prescription and revising the doses she'd listed. By the sixth night of Hanukkah, he was able to travel between the bed and the bathroom without assistance. During the seventh evening, he alternated between dozing and reading; seeing Severus well on his way back to health, Remus forced himself to concentrate on the books Hermione had sent.

 

 

As he lit the candles for the eighth night, Severus crossed the room and stood next him. As Remus concluded the blessing, Severus joined in the "Amein."

 

 

For a moment, they silently watched the tapers burn. Then Remus said, "I saw you were reading Kings."

 

 

"I saw you were making notes on jewelry transactions."

 

 

Remus looked directly at Severus. "Suggestions?"

 

 

"Germany."

 

 

"Specifically?"

 

 

"There are descendants of Grindelwald in Bonn."

 

 

Remus considered this. "A promising haystack," he allowed.

 

 

Severus rewarded him with a thin smile. "Gold has been spun from less."

 

 

"'O winnow all my folly, and you'll find,'" Remus quoted, "'a grain or two of truth among the chaff.'"

 

 

"I should like," Severus said, his voice low, "to be foolish together."

 

 

Remus stared at him in astonishment, and then closed the space between them.

 

 

Some minutes later, their clothes all off and their bodies half-entwined, he felt honour-bound to protest, "You aren't strong enough..."

 

 

"Lupin," Severus growled, "it is unlikely we will both survive this season. If you could bear to handle my body when -- at its worst, surely you can bestow a more pleasant memory for me to take to my grave?"

 

 

In spite of his imperious tone, Severus's eyes were shadowed with uncertainty, and Remus heard the unasked question as clearly if it had been uttered aloud: _How much of your "love" is merely pity?_ In answer, he firmly grasped Severus's erection and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his throat.

 

* * *

 

 

He had tried to stay awake as long as he could, trying not to clutch or to cling beyond the physical act of love; he was all too aware that Severus had been too long away from his duties as it was. This one night was an impossible grace made manifest: Severus in his arms, Severus claiming him, their hands slippery with oil and come as they caressed each other ceaselessly until sleep overtook them.

 

 

When he awoke, he didn't need to open his eyes to know that Severus had left. He knew there would be no traces of Severus remaining in the flat -- neither stray hairs in the sink nor fingerprints on the teapot. There would be no sign that he had spent eight nights there -- no hint that the word "love" had hung in the air. Remus turned his head into his pillow, feeling all of the strain of the past week permeate his bones. It was so very tempting just to stay where he was -- to let the world go hang and let loss overwhelm him.

 

 

After a few minutes, he got up and got dressed. He carefully packed what he needed for a extended stay in Germany, but left the rest of the flat looking as though he might return at any time; it took Muggles at least several days to arrange for movers, so it wouldn't do to remove his furnishings right away. He was disguising the spines of some of the books when Dill knocked on his door.

 

 

She immediately registered his packed bag and the uncharacteristic neatness of his desk. "I thought the wind might blow that way." She placed a neatly wrapped loaf next to the bag. "A good thing I wasn't expecting you to return a plate."

 

 

Remus said, "I will miss you. Is there a tapestry I can help you hang before I leave?"

 

 

"You'll be back for the rest of your things? In a week? I'll try to finish my new curtains by then." Her smile turned sly. "You're still welcome to the red and green monster, you know."

 

 

Remus grinned. "I'm almost tempted. It'd be perfect for padding the bookcase in transit," he teased. His smile faded as he crossed over to the menorah. "I can't use it where I'll be going, though."

 

 

Dill came over to the window, her expression sober. Looking at the delicate glass branches and vines, she murmured, "This -- do you need me to keep it safe for you?"

 

 

Remus hesitated, and then placed it into her hands. "In the grand scheme of things, it's just a candelabra. But I like the thought of it living with you."

 

 

Dill peered at him over the rims of her glasses, looking as though she wanted to argue with him. After a moment, however, she sighed and stretched up to peck him on the cheek.

 

 

"Godspeed, Reade," she said. Carefully carrying the hanukkiah, she left without further ado.

 

 

Remus swiped his hand across his eyes. _This leaving people behind, you'd think one would get used to it. And as for Severus... _ He shook his head and returned to the bookshelf. The Bible could stay as is; the prayerbook would go with him.

 

 

Lifting it up, Remus glimpsed a wrinkle in the bottom edge of the _siddur_. Frowning, he opened the book to smooth it out. It turned out to be a thin strip of parchment with a single line of writing:

 

  
_Jozachar. A servant and an assassin._  


 

 

The shapes of the letters were unfamiliar -- a little too mannered, a trifle too careful. But the weight of the lines, the slant of the crossbar on the "t" -- _I will know you, love_, Remus vowed. Then he incinerated the parchment, Vanished the ashes, and placed the prayerbook with his cloak.


	4. Pesach

**Part 3 - _Pesach_**

 

 

Remus thought it fitting that, when Voldemort was finally vanquished, it took place on St. Valentine's Day. He was still in Germany when the news reached him; the previous week, he'd overseen the destruction of Slytherin's locket and then retreated to the Bavarian Forest for the full moon. Hermione's owl found him at a cottage in Regensburg; as soon as she received his acknowledgment, she Apparated in, bringing supper for two and a near-frantic eagerness to analyze everything that had transpired that winter, from his extended negotiations with mad dwarves to her triumphant identification of the last Horcrux, Godric Gryffindor's gauntlet. The intricately wrought glove was now no more, blasted into a thousand shards by the same spell that had ripped through the Dark Lord's body and reduced its remains into a gust of ashes, irretrievable and indistinguishable from the rest of the grit and dirt coating everyone and everything else on the field of battle.

 

 

Her hand only slightly shaking, Hermione showed Remus her wand, now scarred with an unsightly, sickly green lightning bolt. The final spell had required seven of the children to link their powers -- Harry, Hermione, and Ron, plus Neville, Luna, Ernie, and Millicent -- and all of their wands had been identically affected.

 

 

Remus contemplated the disfigured length of vine wood. "Have you tested it since?"

 

 

Hermione said, "Yes, I ran through some basic spells -- nothing seems to be out of order. But carrying it now feels uncomfortable and strange. I know it _shouldn't_ \-- it's only marred, not broken -- but I still feel as though I'm putting something together wrong whenever I use it. ...Like forcing a lame man to race a rabbit, or a deaf woman to sing harmony."

 

 

Remus said, "In the end, it's only a wand." _Only a candelabra. Only a name. Only a face._ "No matter how vital it's been or will be, it's still merely a tool. Not nearly as important as your will, or your words, or where you go from here."

 

 

Hermione gazed at him sadly. "You're not coming back home, are you."

 

_He who has no home..._ "It's time for all of us to move on," he said, gently.

 

* * *

 

 

Meiringen. Strasburg. Brussels. Nimes. Narbonne. During the weeks that followed, Remus travelled across Switzerland and Belgium and France, knotting up some loose ends and neutralising several enemies along the way. At the beginning of April, Remus revised his standing arrangements with Mycroft and removed himself to a small, sleepy town in western Massachusetts.

 

 

The tiny one-bedroom house he found was little more than a glorified shed, but it suited his needs. It was reportedly haunted by a schoolteacher who had met a grisly end at the turn of the nineteenth century, and it was definitely neglected by its owner, a retail executive who preferred concentrating on her more lucrative properties. Remus left the yard and the outside of the building as is, but as Passover approached, he took pleasure in cleaning the entire interior of the house, employing both a conventional broom and a combination of magic and feathers to sweep out all of the crumbs and droppings left from the previous tenants and visitors. He also reinforced the walls of the bedroom and soundproofed them; there was still no charm strong enough to facilitate a completely silent transformation, but over the years he had accumulated an array of spells that muted and masked his shrieks and howls to an acceptable degree, and he meant for any noises passers-by might overhear to be ascribed to the long-rumoured ghost or an overly raucous house party.

 

 

The first night of Pesach was also the night of the full moon. That morning, Remus moved the few contents of the bedroom -- mattress, lamp, and clothing -- into the living room. That afternoon, he wove Muggle-repelling charms into the fence surrounding his yard, to deter any inquisitive enough to draw close. Two hours before moonrise, while his hands were still steady, he set his table for two, bringing out the seder plate and Haggadah he had picked up in Boston. He placed three matzahs in the centre of the plate, and conjured the egg, the shank, the herbs, and the charoset. He opened a bottle of red wine and set it next to the Haggadah.

 

 

One hour before moonrise, Remus set a copy of _The Poetry of Michelangelo_ inside the rusted mailbox next to his front door. He had left the receipt for the book inside its front cover; on the back of the flimsy paper, he had scrawled, "Queue 9 deep. Getting in at 3:40."

 

 

He had done what he could. Ten minutes before moonrise, Remus took off his clothes, concealed his wand behind a section of baseboard, and withdrew to the bedroom. He muttered the spell to seal himself inside and lay down to await the too-familiar agony.

 

* * *

 

 

It was an hour after moonset before Remus's wits realigned themselves sufficiently for him to crawl to the door and unseal the bedroom. Using the doorframe to haul himself upright, he found himself closely observed by a tall, bald man with a short, neat beard and wire-rimmed bifocals. The man wore a Muggle sweatshirt, faded jeans, and a very familiar scowl; he stepped forward with a robe, helped Remus to a chair, and handed him a glass of water. The conjured food had vanished, but the Haggadah was open. A small mountain of matzoh shards sat on the plate opposite Remus; a few drops of kosher merlot clung to the sides of the wineglass next to it.

 

 

In light of their earlier encounters, Remus had fully expected his visitor to greet him by insulting his mental state. Instead, after studying him for several long moments, Severus quietly recited: "_I' conosco e' mie danni, e 'l vero intendo._" _I recognize my danger, and know the truth._

 

 

"Jozachar, I presume?"

 

 

"René, is it not? Even the dimmest of third-years could have deciphered your hint."

 

 

Remus laughed softly. "Then it's good that I layered in some wards against them. And a few to stave off the fourth-years as well."

 

 

Severus didn't smile. Instead, he nodded at the book, which now sat next to Remus's plate.

 

 

"The day after," Severus said, his voice curt. "23:42."

 

_24 23 42..._ Remus turned to poem 89 and began to read:

 

_I see with your beautiful eyes, a sweet light_

 

that with my blind ones I could never see;

 

I bear, with your feet, a burden upon me

 

to which my lame ones are no longer accustomed.

 

 

I fly, though lacking feathers, with your wings;

 

with your mind I'm constantly impelled toward heaven;

 

depending on your whim, I'm pale or red,

 

cold in the sun, hot in winter's coldest depths.

 

 

Within your will alone is my desire,

 

my thoughts are created in your heart,

 

and within your breath are my own words.

 

 

Alone, I seem as the moon is by itself:

 

for our eyes are only able to see in heaven

 

as much of it as the sun illuminates.

 

 

He looked up at Severus, and said, "Love --"

 

 

Severus's expression was unreadable. "I needed this. To have you know, before I go."

 

 

Remus said, "I am not your soul or its keeper. And you will not leave without me."

 

 

Severus blazed, "_I have no choice!_ You cannot cure this with breadcrumbs or prayers, _René._"

 

 

Remus shook his head and rose from his chair. "'Wherever thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge --'"

 

 

"-- forever on the run, forever hunted, forever changing your name and face and place?" Severus gripped Remus's arms tightly, holding him where he stood. "My sins are not yours! You cannot absolve them by sharing my penance."

 

 

Remus twisted forward and breathed against Severus's ear. "_I recognize my danger, and know the truth._ What part of that did you not understand?"

 

 

Severus closed his eyes, as if doing so would help him will away pain and loss. "The part where truth has any part to play in my future."

 

 

Remus slowly and tenderly caressed Severus's face with his lips, travelling from ear to cheek to jaw, pausing only to murmur a charm that banished the eyeglasses to the table. Severus stood stock still, neither welcoming nor rejecting the contact until Remus's mouth closed over his. Then his arms surged around Remus, clasping him close as the kiss swiftly consumed them both.

 

 

They were both panting when they broke apart for air. His voice shaking with passion, Remus demanded, "You _dare_ to deny this? _Look_ at me, love. Look directly into my eyes, tell me none of this is true, and I will let you go."

 

 

Terror, sorrow, guilt, and hope all crossed Severus's face as he met Remus's gaze. He said nothing as their eyes locked, his entire body radiating suppressed yearning. Then a low moan escaped from his lips as he brought them back to Remus's, surrendering into another incendiary kiss.

 

 

Some minutes later, when he'd recovered his ability to speak, Severus whispered, "_From thine eyes my knowledge I derive..._"

 

 

"_Within the knowledge of mine own desert,_" Remus said. "It will be enough, my love."

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my betas - Kass, Aunty Marion, and Catrinella - and to the fest mod, McKay.


End file.
